


Until it is Experienced

by BlackandBlueMagpie



Series: Don't Call Me Brave [7]
Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Gen, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-11
Updated: 2013-08-11
Packaged: 2017-12-23 04:40:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,718
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/922104
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BlackandBlueMagpie/pseuds/BlackandBlueMagpie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Grantaire finds himself outside a familiar door. Montparnasse look slightly tired when he opens it.</p><p>Enjolras is disappointed when he doesn't show up to the next meeting, but he isn't surprised. Grantaire arrives an hour late, with a call of 'you promised me a drink' that makes his mouth go dry and he forgets entirely what he was saying and where he was going with it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Until it is Experienced

Grantaire finds himself outside a familiar door, its knots and ridges and tracks of dust well known to him through the gloom and flickering fluorescent light. The bell doesn't work, so he knocks his knuckles against the splintering wood.   
Montparnasse look slightly tired when he opens the door, his hair is messy and falls over his eyes when he pushes it back. Grantaire thinks maybe he should apologise for waking him.  
"Grantaire?"  
"You weren't at the bar." He finds himself saying instead, even though he knows that expecting him to be there was ridiculous in the first place.  
"I don't live there." There's a hint of a laugh in Montparnasse's cold voice. "Come on, come in."  
"I was just talking about you the other day." Grantaire says as he walks past Montparnasse into a room that's furnished in a mis-match of stylish furniture that might be stolen or salvaged, you can never be sure. It's familiar and nostalgic and he tries to think of when he was last here and fails to separate the memories from each other. There's a bottle of whiskey on the table and Grantaire swigs from it as he stares anywhere but where Montparnasse stands.  
"Really?" It's a surprised tone, of course it is. They never talked about each other, though there was never an agreement not to.   
"Yeah. With Jehan in fact. You dated?"  
"We might have."  
"You're acting remarkably coy." He sips the whiskey again; Montparnasse retrieves his glass and holds it out to be filled.   
"Jehan was great, but you're not here to discuss past boyfriends. Unless you want permission to go ahead..."  
"He's dating my best friend."  
"Shame, you'd go well together." It's an offhand comment but it feels loaded. "So then." The purr is closer to his ear and Grantaire swallows because Montparnasse knows, he just knows so well. Hands are taking the bottle from his gripping fingers, which follow after it momentarily like a lost child, and he turns to meet lips but Montparnasse has gone, moving around him to retrieve a cigarette.  
Grantaire watches as he lights up and tilts his head back to breathe out a cloud of smoke. He's not sure if Montparnasse is teasing or stalling but he watches in some kind of hypnotised trance as his Adams apple bobs and full lips part in silvery streams and his entire body relaxes and it... He shakes his head quickly, closing his eyes tight and when he opens them again Montparnasse is a breath away from him. His fingers lift Grantaire's chin and he exhales a stream of smoke into his open mouth before their lips press together in a harsh, hungry kiss.  
Montparnasse's hands are possessive and grab at him and Grantaire makes a needy whine in the back of his throat. He's pushed against the sofa and Montparnasse is pulling his t-shirt off and plants kisses on his neck before he follows with teeth and Grantaire's breath shakes out of his lungs.  
"This is a bad idea." Montparnasse murmurs against his skin.  
Grantaire grabs at his wrist and flips them so he's pushing down against Montparnasse and the other groans softly.  
"I don't care."  
"Jesus Christ Grantaire." His hands wander up over shoulders and over the tattoo that reads 'love is not a victory march' and linger there. Grantaire kisses him harshly; like he's reclaiming something he's lost, reasserting his ownership.  
There are no regrets, not yet. Just a need and a want. Desire to forget for even the shortest amount of time. It is wrong, and if he gasps out Enjolras against Montparnasse's collar bone then no one mentions it after.   
They share a cigarette and the last of the whiskey from the bottle and neither says anything when Grantaire kisses Montparnasse's cheek or when they wake up there the next morning.   
That was the agreement after all.  
~~~  
Grantaire doesn't turn up at the next meeting.  
Enjolras wasn't really expecting him to, but there's still a flicker of disappointment when he glances over and finds his seat empty. There's no brash loud voice cutting through his debates.   
The void seems infinitely bigger by the way everyone keeps glancing at it, because they know Grantaire and Enjolras fought but they don't know what happened after. Combeferre and Jehan, who do know, equally make it obvious.   
He's not there the next meeting, or the one after that and the gap widens until it seems to fill the room.  
He goes home with Combeferre.  
He arrives on Saturday to find three gaps, the loud personality of Bahorel and the political questioning of Feuilly vanished.  
They arrive an hour late, with a call of 'you promised me a drink' that makes his mouth go dry and he forgets entirely what he was saying and where he was going with it.   
Grantaire saunters in behind them, hands in pockets in a way that makes him look uncomfortable but he's laughing and Bahorel claps him on the back before heading back upstairs.   
Grantaire's eyes are creased as his lips turn up in a smirk and he reclines into his chair like a cat, and Enjolras half expects him to put his feet up on the table before him. He watches as he cracks his neck, and then flexes his fingers in front of him and he thinks Feuilly's apologising so he nods and murmurs something about it being okay.  
Bahorel comes back with another round of drinks and the room erupts into little groups of chatter.  
"We should get on." Combeferre calls over the din, and Enjolras realises he hasn't said anything yet.   
"Right yes. A-As I was saying." Enjolras checks through his notes.  
"You seem distracted Apollo, maybe you've discovered your argument is falling apart?"  
He barely has time to think before the reply leaves his mouth.  
"Maybe if you were less disruptive in your entrance I wouldn't need to go back over what I've already said."  
"It may surprise you but I wasn't actually the reason I was late, but I suppose you can't blame Feuilly can you? Because I'm the only one who ever does wrong here." A smile plays at his lips but his eyes are cold. Had they always been quite that blue? They're rimmed in a thick purple line that makes them appear hooded and he doesn't think Grantaire has slept in days. He almost expects Joly to tart fussing once he stops looking so uncomfortable at the situation.  
Enjolras gapes for a little too long and Feuilly apologises again, offering the next round even though Enjolras is sure he can't afford it.   
"It's fine, I'm sorry for blaming you Grantaire you just happened to be the one to speak up. Now if we can move on."  
He recaps the figures quickly, makes his proposal and hands over to Combeferre without issue. The group descend into a discussion, the he takes his place at the head of the table again and clears his throat.  
"If I may, it doesn't seem to me like this actually going to work." Grantaire interjects again, as soon as he stands. Enjolras is sure he's said nothing through the discussion.  
"And why's that?"  
"Governments don't listen to a rag tag group of students."  
"The government has to listen to the people."  
"Will the people listen to you?" Grantaire asks, and his tone is placid and flat. It serves to irritate Enjolras more, which may have been the intention.  
"You don't think they wish to change things? You think we're not in touch with the people?"  
"I think you think to highly of the power of the people and their willingness to do anything except complain. So yes, I think you're completely out of touch through your idealism alone because you think all people share your ideas and passion. The people always want change but rarely act to bring about that change. You just need to read a history book to see that."  
"If you are so certain of our failure and appear to dislike our methods as much as you do what are you doing here?"  
"I like the company. And sometimes you need a dressing down before you fly too high."  
"I think we both know why you're here." Enjolras murmurs and then blinks at the words, watching as they fall from his mouth and lands on the table with a loud thump that resonates through silence. Grantaire's face remains neutral and he thinks maybe he missed the last remnants of an emotion there. "I- I need some air." He pushes himself out of the room, stomach churning and heart beating so hard it feels it might break loose from his rib cage. 

He's surprised to find Grantaire already there when he arrives to the next meeting, a grin that says 'I proved you wrong' playing on his lips as he reclines in his chair.   
It sets something sparking in the pit of Enjolras's stomach.  
The cycle continues.   
Sarcasm, bitter retort, snide comment, rinse, repeat until one of them has to leave.   
People keep volunteering to get drinks in the middle of these fights, others volunteer to go with them to help even though they never usually need help. They seem to be taking it in turns. Grantaire drinks a little more, Enjolras gets a little more passionate. Joly gets a little more panicky, Bahorel gets a little more protective, Jehan glares a little more, Combeferre touches Enjolras's arm a little more. He barely notices the changes, too transfixed with the man in front of him, glittering blue eyes full of flame and thin lips upturned in snide little grins with one eye brow cocked into dark curls.  
"You need to talk to Jehan." Combeferre tells him as they walk home. "You need to sort this out because you haven't slept in days and haven't eaten properly in even longer and Grantaire looks even worse."  
"I know..." 

Enjolras finds Jehan's house easily enough. It's quiet and secluded and the Landlady gives him the once over as he heads up the stairs. Jehan opens the door wearing a jumper Enjolras knows is Courfeyrac's, the navy blue cording hangs off him slightly due to his slighter frame and the sleeves are rolled up to prevent them falling over his hands. His face falls as he takes in who's there.  
"Enjolras."  
"Jehan I know I probably shouldn't be here but-"  
"No. You really shouldn't."  
"Combeferre said I should talk to you. He also warned me you may kill me."  
"It's on the cards." Jehan says dryly. "How'd you find out where I live?"  
"Courfeyrac." Jehan's eye narrow. "On the premise that he wanted to see how you’d kill me, but also because he doesn't want to see Grantaire hurt."  
"Why do I have to be involved?" Jehan leans in the doorway; his eyes aren't fierce or angry as Enjolras has seen them, rather more suspicious.  
"Because he talks to you."  
"You do realise I've known him for a very short time compared to you?"  
"But you know so much about him, and I know that's my fault. I just want to understand."  
Jehan sighs and pushes a lock of hair off his face."  
"Alright, come in. I'll make tea or something."  
Jehan clears a spot for him on the sofa, clearing the cushions and books and paper away, before settling with his drink and a blanket.   
"Go on. Tell me your side; because all I got so far was you kissing him out of nowhere, then you two are suddenly chucking snide comments across the Musain."  
"It wasn't completely- Well I guess it was but... There's this thing about here." He presses his hand to his ribs "It sounds ridiculous but he frustrates me, but I also... I miss him if he's not there and sometimes I um... I can't explain it and that frustrates me and so I snap and then this aches more."  
"So you kissed him."  
"I wanted to... I just kind of, it happened. He thinks I kissed him out of pity but I wouldn't."  
"Some people do, people kiss for all sorts of reasons."  
"I don't."  
"Well, Enjolras, if Grantaire turned to you today and said he believed in everything you said and wanted to be a major figure would you believe him?"  
"No..."  
"So why would he believe you, when you said things to him that were bitter and hurtful, why would he think you actually really did like him?"  
"He wouldn't... I've screwed everything up." He sighs and pushes a hand through his hair. "I just, I've never felt like this and I certainly never expected the first person I actually liked to be someone who I thought I'd hate when I first met him. It’s so... Confusing. Because he annoys me and sometimes I can't stand h9im and we can't say two words to each other without shouting but other times... I... We talk and we, there's these moments when everything kind of stops. When he gets passionate about his art it's amazing and I want him to be like that, to be happy and to laugh with me."  
"And you show that by shouting at him?"  
"I've never been good with emotions... I get too caught up in things or I don't notice them."  
"I've noticed." Jehan mutters.   
"Do you think someone up there's laughing at me?"  
"It's possible." He shrugs "You have to understand Grantaire isn't going to react the same to praise as you or I. He doesn't believe it, especially not from you. I think... He expected something from you and now you've gone back on that so to speak and he doesn't know where he stands."  
"Why won't he talk to me?"  
"I don't know."  
"He's been really argumentative this past week or so, since he's been back."  
"Maybe he's trying to make things go back, to where he can understand them. And where he's comfortable."  
"Why is he comfortable with me insulting him? Why would he- I just don't know why he seems to want me to hate him."  
“‘We accept the love we think we deserve.'" Jehan tells him and Enjolras frowns.  
"Is that..."  
"Perks of Being a Wallflower. My point stands."  
"He doesn't think he deserves care or respect or even love? Why not?"  
"I don't know Enjolras. You'd have to ask him that. But you need to talk; I know he's being difficult-"  
"I've really screwed everything up haven't I? I mean if he was like this and then I- God I just... I'm terrible and I don't want to be because I care for him but I'm hurting him..." Enjolras presses his lips together and his eyes are troubled and hooded. Jehan touches his shoulder gently.  
"You really like him don't you?" Enjolras nods.  
"I wish I'd realised sooner..."  
"I'm sorry."  
"Y-Why?" Enjolras frowns at Jehan as the poet looks at him with a mix of remorse and genuine pity.  
"Because you really like him, genuinely. I can see it, your eyes are... Very telling. You've got this look... You need to sort this out, both of you. If not for anything other than to stop the snide remarks that are passing between you because everyone's on edge waiting for it to explode like a time bomb."  
"I'm sorry; he just... gets to me. He riles me up like no one else does and..." Enjolras finds himself lost for words to describe how he feels and what Grantaire means to him. He's lost in icy blue eyes and the flash of crooked teeth that comes with a witty comment. And then he's lost in 'have I fallen for a person more machine than man' and desperate sobs being pulled out from a rattling rib cage and those same glittering eyes swimming in tears. And the cold look of remarks or the hot press of lips on lips, reaching, pushing frantically so that the moment doesn't slip away.   
He finds his own breaths sticking in his throat and it briefly slips into his mind that maybe Grantaire feels like this whenever he thinks of him.  
"I know." Jehan murmurs.   
"How can I make this better?" Enjolras asks, and his voice doesn't feel like his own. It feels sticky and forced and foreign.   
"Tell him how you feel. Don't force him. Just… Talk.”

**Author's Note:**

> I suppose this is a series of vignettes that might make the next one make a little more sense?  
> Also I've fallen in love with my stupidly mutually unhealthy Montparnasse/Grantaire relationship that I'll expand on somewhen I'm sure.   
> The Title comes from Keats: Nothing ever becomes real 'til it is experienced.  
> Because I just love it with regard to Enjolras and his feelings for Grantaire.


End file.
